The Mission
by Exilo
Summary: The final chapter in the story. R&R please.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The forest smells sweet and clean: a natural aroma that could out do any human perfume. The soft grass massages my aching hooves with each step. Above me, the trees stretch forward to shield me from the sun, but allow just enough to peek through and bake my fur in comfort. I am a shaman: the spirits are my power, and nature herself is a spirit.

A spirit, with a soft and sweet voice, whispers in my ear, and she is sad. She tells me I must continue with my mission. Then can I return to the trees and stay a while. I reply with a sad tone: "I know."

I walk until again she whispers in my ear. This time it isn't motivation, but fear. She tells me one of her children is in danger: the rancid goblins that destroy the land attacked her. She begs me to help. "A Night Elf?" I question. "I can't help a Night Elf. She will attack me on sight."

"You're a Gray-walker," she counters. "You take no sides in war. Please, you have to help her."

I grunt as I continue walking.

"Why would you help her when she's dead, but not when you could save her life?" she demands.

I could respond that dead, they bare me no harm, but instead set out to help her child.

I find the Night Elf easy enough: young, weak, vulnerable; in the chaos of a mighty battle. She fights with everything she has, every strength she can summon, yet can barely lift her dagger. The goblins, armed with swords, hammers and guns, slowly approach their victim. They used superior numbers to defeat there better, I was sure of this. "Please," he whispers in my ear. "Help my child."

My hand begins to stir as magical cackling energy cascades around it. This is a difficult spell, and I beg my ancestors to lend me their strength. The goblins continue their approach of the wounded elf, any moment they'll get bored with torture and take her life. I lift my hand as a beam of lightning rips out of my palm and lashes into the goblin. The pure energy then jumps to the next and the next, slowly. The goblins never know what hit them and I watch as their confused souls leave their shells and evaporate into the air. With out one to sustain them, they must leave for the next realm.

The spell took away much of my energy, and so I approach the elf with the aid of my staff. However, she who has been taught to hate Tauren from the time of her birth: lunges at me before I can talk. "Stinking beast," she screams as I side step her assault. She is wounded and confused and, while strong, her blows are slow and sloppy. "Come to kill me have you cow? I'll kill you first." She charges me, but I thrust out my staff and knock out her knee. She tumbles to the ground and I am upon her before she can recover. Pinning her beneath my superior weight, I speak in her tongue. "Do you want to die?"

Her eyes show burning hatred, her lips don't move.

I push my hoof harder into her chest. For the briefest of moments, I allow all 800 pounds of muscle to weigh on her. She gasps suddenly in pain, and I return to merely pinning her. "Do you want to die?" I demand again. "You're a druid, no? You defend nature's body, I protect her soul. I would hate to kill you when we have such similar goals."

The Night Elf whimpers out: "No. No I don't want to die."

"Very well," I smile. I call upon the spirits once more to lend me their strength, and push their healing energies into the elf's chest. She cringes, expecting pain, but instead find a healthy feeling filling her body. She looks up at me with eye's wide with amazement as I swing my staff down onto her head, knocking her out cold.

I lift the Night Elf over my shoulder. It isn't hard for she is light and I am strong. Using my staff for support, I set out for a cave she tells me of. There I can sleep and watch over her child with ease.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Private Tyrr Pantherfoot never would have guessed how good pain could feel. The subtle aching in her body told her a glorious thing: she was alive. But how. She remembered...the goblins. A swarm of them. She fought with all her power, summoning nature's strength, but with each opponent that fell her muscles grew tired. When she could barely lift her dagger, the remaining goblins approached. The taunted and laughed and teased. And…and they died. The beam, yes, a lance of cackling energy ripped into the goblin's shells: they only screamed for a moment. And emerging from the forest brush, Tyrr expected to see one of her own; or at least a human mage or dwarf paladin. Instead, to her horror, she saw one of _them_. With some new found strength she lunged at the Tauren, but he merely stepped to his side. Again, she assaulted with every once of power she had left, but the Tauren was well trained. She recalled terrible pain as the Tauren pushed a rancid hoof into her chest: crushing lungs and ribs. He mocked her, asking if she wanted to live. When she could resist no more and the truth burst through her lips, he smiled. And…and he saved her.

The scraping of hoof's on stone alerted the soldier to the Tauren's presence. Confused, she dove for her dagger which rested at the foot of her makeshift bed and entered a battle stance. She was ready now, she was prepared to fight the Tauren and kill him.

"Could you put that down," he grumbled in a deep voice. She was amazed that he could speak her langue so well.

"Stay away from me cow."

"For the love of," the Tauren growled. "See, this is why I didn't want to save her," he screamed at some invisible creature.

"Who are you?" Tyrr demanded.

The Tauren slowly slipped to the ground and began to throw wood into the open, roaring fire. "My name is not important."

"Why am I here?" she commanded, her dagger always in front of her. "Turn me in?"

"If I were going to turn you to the Horde, why would I bring you to this cave and wait for you to recover?"

Tyrr lowered her weapon. "Then why am I here?"

"Well, you got attacked by the goblins and I saved you. Then you tried to kill me so I was forced to put you out. Now, I couldn't bring you to one of your villages, or I'd of been captured or much more likely killed on sight. I could bring you to one of mine, for much the same reason. So I brought you here until you woke up. Guess I shouldn't have hit you so hard though."

"Why would you save me co…Tauren?"

"Do you know what a shaman can do?" he asked: his eyes following the flicking flames that jumped with each twig he threw.

Tyrr shook her head.

"Well, I see things: spirits. Most have to study shamanistic arts to gain this vision, I was born with it. So, I see everything, anything with a soul. A friend of mine, an elf, asked me to save you."

"So," Tyrr stuttered. "C-can I leave?"

The Tauren shrugged. Tyrr hastily slipped past the sitting bull and walked into the pail's moon's light. "Thank you," she said, as she began a spell.

The Tauren whispered the words for a shield in his mind over and over again, always prepared for a sudden attack by the Night Elf. To his relief, Tyrr did nothing more than shape shift into a spotted jungle cat and dashed into the thick trees.

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I watched the elf slip between the trees before I returned my gaze to the fire. "Thank you," the soul of a willowy Night Elf said. Once purple skin and dark blue hair had become transparent with a light blue glow since her death. Still, she retained a beauty that transcended species. Unlike most of the spirits I helped, this particular one choice to remain with me instead of cross to the other side. I share a part of my life force so she can remain in this realm. I can't say I don't like the company.

"Some how I have the feeling I'll regret this."


	3. Chapter 3

**WANTED**

By order of the Great Dark Lady: Sylvanas Windrunner, the Tauren known as the Greywalker is to be captured and delivered to the Undercity, where his fate will be dealt by the Dark Lady herself.

The Greywalker is wanted for the crimes of mass murder, conspiracy against the Forsaken, and the aiding of Alliance forces. He is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous, and not to be engaged alone. The reward for his death will be 10,000 gold and the gratitude of the Dark Lady and all of the Forsaken. Due to the severity of this Tauren's crimes, the bounty is extended to both the Horde and Alliance. Any who wish to claim this reward will ride into the Undercity under the white flag of peace.

May the Dark Lady be with you.

I read the poster over and over, fear swelling in my breast. I turned to Her and we exchanged scared gazes. "Shit," nuff said.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Sir," Tyrr said, lifting her hand above her eyes. It was an act she had grown to hate, but did because it was what was demanded of her by her superior: a human paladin known as Marcus Goodhand. She disliked him as well, though obeyed his orders like any good soldier would.

"Private Pantherfoot?" the paladin questioned.

"Yes sir," the elf said, still in her salute. A rule that Goodhand had begun to enforce when he took command of the outpost, was that when in the presence of a superior officer, the inferior must stand at attention until their better returns the salute or tells them to stand down. Goodhand, who had a blatant dislike of other races, had been know to leave his soldiers at attention for hours on end. Tyrr began to fear her arm would grow numb when he said: "At ease."

She happily lowered her salute.

"How did the scouting of the Goblin's mining operation go?" the paladin asked.

"Sir," she began, the word tasting disgusting on her tongue. "I was discovered and attacked by a large group of the miners. They overwhelmed me."

"How did you survive, elf?" Goodhand asked, xenophobia dripping from his lips.

"A…" Tyrr stopped to think of the right words, "mysterious man saved me. He treated my wounds and when I was well enough I set out for the camp."

"Oh," the human said, almost disappointed. "Well, it's good that you've returned. This was sent to me by a comrade in Ratchet."

Tyrr was handed a paper document, the words: **WANTED** written boldly along the top. "Sir, forgive me, butwhy would we aid the Forsaken?"

"King Anduin Wrynn has decided the Tauren, if it is so feared by the Dark Lady, may hold valuable information. He, as well as the other leaders of our great races, desire _it's_ capture for interrogation. Information states that the Tauren may be in this area. Have you seen any that fit the description?"

Tyrr attempted a laugh. "You know all those cows look alike."

"Yes, of course. I order you to disregard any missions you may be working on at this time. From this moment on, your only quest will be tracking down this Graywalker and bringing it to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, I understand."

Tyrr quickly went to the stables: where her mount awaited. The gigantic nightsaber, easily twice the size of the night elf, purred loudly at the sight of her master. Tyrr happily stroked the jungle cat's head and scratched behind the ear. "We have much to do Aisha," Tyrr whispered. "And I have much to tell you. But nowwe must leave this camp."

The nighsaber continued to purr and lowered to the ground, allowing Tyrr to saddle and mount the jungle cat. She leaned forward and allowed Aisha to smell a small bit of cloth. "I took this off the Tauren when we first met, use it to find him. Please."

The nightsaber meowed recognition and slowly set out of the town. When they had passed the last guards, she set out at full speed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The bear lunged at me, rancid fangs tearing through the muscle in my arm. I swing the grizzly with all my might into the ground to force its jaws open, but the teeth are locked into me. I push a hoof into the bear's chest and pull: blood and tissue tear away. The bear lay on the ground, a good chunk of my arm still locked in its jaws. Summoning fire into my hand, I thrust flames upon the animal to end its life. However, in doing so I leave myself a target to the bear's master. The dwarf had all the time in the world to aim.

He fires; the bullet tears into my leg, skimming the bone. It'll take him a moment to eject the shell and load a fresh one, that was my only chance. Despite the shocks that surges up my leg, I run at him with all my strength. Something about eight hundred pounds of pissed off Tauren must scare him because he fumbles with his bullet. It slips through his wormy little fingers. I wasn't goanna let him get another. I brought my hoof into his chest, leather and mail armor bent under the force. I'm sure I heard a rib snap.

He stumbles back, lifting his rifle again, but I tear it from his hands and deliver another kick into his chest. I cuff my hands together and slam my two fists into his back.Grabbing hold of his collar, I punch him several times before throwing him away like a rag doll away. The words to a powerful spell burst out of my mouth, anger rages in my heart. I'm going to kill him: I have to or he'll kill me. But before the spell is finished, he pulls something strange from under his cloak and throws it at my hooves. He begins to chuckle. The small strange thing explodes beneath me.

The fire burns my fur, bits of metal rip into my good leg. I'm crippled on the ground, dazed and confused at the outburst of orange. The ringing in my ears deafens slowly and the spots fade from my eyes. As I struggle to get to up, something cold pushes into the back of my neck. "Like the bomb? A little gift from me cousin. Ye know cow, I was goanna let ye live. Least till we got to da Undercity. But now cow, I'm goanna blow ye bovine brain out. Any last word?"

I mutter under my breath.

"Ye have to speak up cow," the dwarf laughs.

I twist on the ground to face the hunter and clutch the rifle, bending the barrel. Most never believe I can move as fast as I do, which is why he doesn't get the shot off. I reach up and grab his chest in my mitts: the words to summon lightning come roaring out of my throat. Hot, burning energy engulfs his small body, organs and entrails burst outfrom allsides.The dwarf makes a few struggled gasps as he losses grip on his rifle.He buckles over, his arms wrapped around him as if trying to sustain his life. After a few painful seconds his spirit hesitantly leaves its shell. I was in incredible pain, several bones in my legs were broken, I was sure. I somehow manage to stand up and lean heavily on my staff, I can't use my left leg because of the sever bullet wound and burns. The right is aching under the pressure, skin peels off with each step. I turn to the dwarf's spirit that's quickly fading from this realm. Without a shaman of my powers to sustain a spirit, they must cross to the other side. He's scared, terrified at what is happening. I begin to chuckle."You talk too much," I say as I struggle away.

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Don't ask me how, but I manage to get to a river with out passing out or losing _too_ much blood. She comes to my side. "Are you alright?" the soul of the night elf asks.

"Do I look alright?" I grunt. I wash the drying blood out of my fur and cut the bits of metal from my legs with a skinning knife. When this is done, I wrap my hooves with a silk cloth and summon the spirits to speed up the healing."I don't know if I can do this," I say. "How many has it been?"

"Twenty-seven. Humans, trolls, orcs, gnomes, dwarves, elves. And that's just freelancers. You've always had to fight the the Dark Lady's personal armies."

"I won't last long at this rate."

She settles down beside me and puts a motherlyhand to my aching muscles. "Taff," she says, using my first name. She's one of the only beings on earth that calls me by it."You have to be strong."

"That dwarf would've had me if he didn't talk so much. Soon I'll slip up."

"No," she whispers. "You can't, you are their only hope."

I stand up and the sudden sharp pains settle into steady agony. I stick a pair of fingers into my mouth and whistle as loud and long as I can. After several agonizing minutes, a large grey kodo shuffles out of the woods. "Hello Goliath, have you missed me?"

A scratchy tongue licks my hand as I pat the kodo's leathery head. I mount the great steed and pull her up in front of me.She is able to maintain a physical form so long as she is either close to me or concentrates hard enough. The same is with her visibility.Due to my powers however,I can always see or touchher. "Where to know?" the spirit elf asks.

"Undercity, but I don't know if I can do it alone."

"Hey mon, good thing I be here then," said an accented voice above me. The troll that jumps down from a tree branch has royal blue skin, crimson red hair laced down his back and dark black eyes. He wears mainly black leather armor, the only exception a pair of cloth boots that lets him walk silently. On his belt he carries a pair of short swords and on his back a bow and quiver.

Aloos is a psychotic murderous troll rogue. So far, in the short time I have been wanted by the Dark Lady, I have had to fight bible thumpers, crazed hunters, blood thirsty warriors, and corrupted warlocks. God I love Aloos.

I tell the troll what had happened so far, and what I still had to do. He slaps his leg and laughs. "Hey mon, that be a lot of killing you be doin. I'm in," he said with a psychotic grin.

"There's a good chance you'll die."

"Then I just hang out wit ya like Mab, mon."

Mab is the night elf spirit that travels with me. While Aloos is not trained in the art of shamanism, Mab makes herself visible to him. He calls his own steed: a green raptor he named Snot, and mounts the creature. "You lead the way mon."

"Because when there's a bounty on my head, I really want a rogue behind me," I rumble.

"Hey, if I were goanna kill you, wouldn't I 'ave done it when ye were wounded by da lake?"

"Good point."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Even in a war that engulfs countless species and takes millions of lives, there are places that remain neutral. Cities where an uneasy truce between the Horde and the Alliance is maintained by the most unlikely of creatures: goblins. The small, green skinned creatures didn't care what race is in their shops. Just that their customers come with money.

After traveling on Aisha for about a day, Private Tyrr Pantherfoot found herself in one such place. "Is this where his scent has led you?" the elf asked her jungle cat.

Aisha purred a response.

Tyrr climbed off her great saber and permitted her to roam the desert in search of prey. "I'll whistle if I need you." The night saber happily padded off in search of juicy elk or meaty raptor. Even an unsuspecting orc or human would make a fine meal for the great cat.

Tyrr turned back to the city. "What will you do once you find him?" she asked herself.

For two days the elf searched the town without luck. Finally,she decided to make her way to thetavern. It was an unspoken law that those who rode beneath the flag of the Alliance sit at one end of the bar and those who mounted for the Horde: the other. The few brave enough could sit in the center, where an orc could drink with a human and a troll could toast with an elf. Tyrr had never been in their ranks. Though she hated to acknowledge it, she had a seething streak of resentment for any other than her own kind; much like her superior. At least, she felt that way until she met the Greywalker. The way he treated her, the way he acted. They wrangled with the beliefs she formely had. He was as smart and cunning as he was strong and powerful: hardly the mindless cow her peers spoke of.

"Hey, sorry, no weapons in here. HE HE," said something at Tyrr's feet. She looked down to see the goblin bouncer of the bar. By genetics night elves were tall and slim. Goblins by contrast were short and scrawny, about the same size as gnomes. So the bouncer barely came up to the elf's thigh. Regardless of the height difference, Tyrr handed him her precious dagger. She'd learned even if she had the edge in strength, speed, and agility, goblins would always have numbers. Sometimes numbers where all that mattered.

Tyrr knew enough about unarmed fighting to feel confident as she took a seat next to an orc. He briefly examined his neighbor and made a grunt before returning to his drink.

"What'll it be toots?" asked the goblin bartender. Then added the typical laugh: "HE HE."A platform around the interior of the bar allowed him to face his sitting customers.

"I'm," Tyrr started, "looking for a tauren, called the Greywalker."

"HE HE. You and every other man or thing on the planet. That dumb cow's hide could set anyone for life. Got to wonder what he did to piss Windrunner off so much."

"I tell you what he did," rumbled the orc in his native tongue. Tyrr cursed silently under her breathe. Elves, secretive and aristocratic by nature, rarely learned any langue other than their own. Tyrr was no exception. She knew enough of the human's langue of commonto get by, but that was it."That damn treacherouscow. Been helping your kind for years. Thrall only knows how many of you elves he's saved."

"That cow has attacked us twice as much as you," shouted a dwarf across the bar. "Laid siege to my whole squad a few years back."

"Your squads slaughter whole village," screamed a younger tauren. "The Greywalker saved my family. He's a hero."

"Shut up you damn cow," shouted the dwarf. Ironically, her spotted white and black fur did make her look like livestock. "You damn cows, murdering us hard working dwarves whenever we try to mine the land."

"You paladins: killing the innocent in the name of the Light," snarled an undead in gutterspeak. The Forsaken's tongue was a langue few knew. Regardless, by now it didn't matter: tempers where flaring.

"Your bitch Queen has destroyed countless villages with her plagues. My children were forced to drink rancid water and eat diseased meat. They died before they were five," cried a human mother. "All of you deserve to die."

"We kill to survive, because you human hunt us down for sport."

"We end your wretched existence so you may find peace," said the paladin defensively.

"No, you kill us because that's what the Light tells you to do."

Tyrr quietly placed a coin on the table and slipped out of the bar, disappointed at the lack of information. Her determination was unfazed though, the Greywalker was somewhere in this city, and she would find him. What she would do when they meet however, she didn'tknow.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello, and thanks to everyone who's been reading thus far. Thank you for the reviewsKyn, Muse, and Lorok, (I hope others are reading but are just to lazy to type up a review). Please continue with the feedback, even if it's just to tell me your still there. I'll try to post a new chapter roughly every four days, but no garrentees. Alright, here's Chapter 7:_

Chapter 7

A knock on my door makes me jump. This is a nerve racking time for me after all. I'm that last one job for every mercenary and bounty hunter there is.

"Hey mon, open up. I forgot me key," says Aloos. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief and undo the bolt lock. The troll slips in and takes a comfortable seat on my bed next to Mab.

"How is it out there?" the spirit elf asks.

"Whole damn town is crawling wit hunters, mon. Night elf in da bar asked about ya. I was goanna follow her but she slipped out just before a fight broke out."

"A night elf," I ask, interested. "What did she look like?"

"Ahh," Aloos says scratching his head. "Kinda like Mab only, y'know, not dead."

I briefly thought back to the elf I'd saved in the Ashenvale woods, but quickly pushed that idea from my mind. I've already had to kill several elf mercenaries, no reason this one's any different.

"What about the ship," I grunt.

"Already bought it. It'll be stocked in a few hours. Ye ever sail mon?"

"I've done my share," I shrug. "Where are you going?"

"Out," the troll says slipping through the door. "Still haven't gotten me booze. I'll meet ye at the docks in three hours."

Mab waited for the door to close to speak in a soft tone. "Are you sure you can trust him Taff?"

"Am I sure I can trust you?" I blurt out without thinking.

Mab lowers her head in shame and I immediately want to kick myself. When I was still very young, just a small child or calf as most races call us, a squad of elf soldiers attacked my tribe. We still lived as nomads, despite the effort of Bloodhoof, so we were easy prey for the group of well armed warriors. They'd been traveling through the Barrens for days, their food supplies long run out. When they laid eyes onto our meaty cattle, they worked themselves into a rage and laid siege to our village. I only survived because Mab, the very soldier who murdered my parents, decided to smuggle me back to her home in Teldrassil and keep me as an exotic pet. When I was old enough, I left that elven city under the moon's light, never turning back.

It would be years later, during my many travels, that I would stumble upon Mab again. I was young when she took me, but I recognized her scent. We tauren have a much more acute olfactory sense than most other creatures. Seeing her, smelling her, knowing she was responsible for the death of my parents, I went a little crazy. I attacked her with everything I had, all the wrath at losing my family. And when she lay dieing at my hooves, I was prepared to deliver the final blow. But I just couldn't bring myself to kill her. Instead, I nursed her wounds and let her go when she was able. It was at that moment, after all the years: she realized just what she'd done. Stricken with grief, she pledged her services to me, until she could rest with a clear conscience.

Mab has never asked for my forgiveness. Not that she doesn't desire it, but because she still doesn't believe she deserve it. I would forgive her of-course: she sacrificed her flesh for me.

A knock mercifully breaks the silence. "Aloos," I grunt as I open the door. "Forget your k..."

A fist the size of my chest flies through the open threshold and strikes my jaw. The sheer power of the blow sends me stumbling back. I'm quick to regain my footing, and dive for my staff but something grabs my leg and throws me into a wall. My body aches as a hit the ground with a thud but nothing is broken, thankfully. I struggle to look through the dust as a huge creature that shuffles carelessly through the opening in the wood. The monster stands almost a foot higher than I do, and is easily twice my size due to his layers of swollen rolls of fat that is his body. On his broad shoulders are two heads, each with a pair of eyes that glare at me through the debris. His skin is various shades of a sickly blue and green, covered with soars that ooze pus and stitches that can hardly hold him together. His smell assaults my nose and makes me gag: a horrid stench of rotting meat and flesh, like any undead but magnified by hundreds. I can feel the dark, demonic energies that seep out of him like the pus. I've seen his kind before. The Dark Lady uses these creatures of necromancy to guard her precious Undercity. Once, before this bad blood between her and I, I witnessed a very ignorant human attempt to infiltrate the capital. I then watched as he was brutally torn limb from limb very slowly by one of these titans.

I stand up as quickly as I can and grab a chair. I swing with all my might, but the weak wood breaks on contact with the monster. The creature lifts me by my throat and begins to choke the life from me. "Cow want hurt master," the thing roars. "Grumb crush cow." I swing a hoof into his chest. Nothing happens. I kick him again. He doesn't flinch. The world begins to swirl and fade before my eyes. One chance at this. I lash forward and grab one of his heads. My hand tingles as heat forms in my palm and burns his skin with flames. He releases me and I fall to the ground gasping for air. "Cow hurt Grumb," the monster screams. I ram into him with all my might, and manage to knock him off his feet.

"Mab," I say, still gasping for air.

The spirit cautiously approaches me.

"Get Aloos."

"What?"

"Get Aloos, I can't kill this thing alone." The creature is already back on his feet and shuffling towards me. "Go," I shout. Mab takes a glance at me, then the creature. "Go," I scream.

"Be careful," she whimpers before running out the door, leaving me alone with the creature. This will be tricky.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hi di ho again, friends. Short chapter, so I figure I'll talk for a while. Sorry I haven't updated for a while (whoever is still reading this). Drop a review if you like how its going or have anything to say._

Chapter 8

"Hey mon, keep dem coming." Aloos was on his third shot of the bar's strongest liquor, and still yet to feel so much as a buzz. For better or worse, a troll's body can regenerate lost limbs and fight off most types of poison. While this was excellent in battle situations, it caused endless annoyance whenever Aloos tried to get drunk. Only a special brew, made by trolls, could give him that oh so sweet high. But that didn't stop him from trying with the conventional beverages the bar served.

"Aloos," whispered a disembodied voice.

The troll looked around the bar confused. "Damn, how da hell did I get drunk?"

"Aloos, you stupid ass-hole."

"Oh, hello Mab," he said, realizing the spirit didn't materialize due to the public place.

"Come on," she said as an unseen force began to tug on his arm. "Move your blue ass."

"What the matter?" Aloos demanded, refusing to budge from his stool.

"Taff is in trouble."

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Private Pantherfoot's day hadn't gotten much better since the bar. She'd tried everything she could think to get a lead on the Greywalker. She had bribed every goblin, intimidated countless gnomes. She'd even gone as far as to seduce a human for information, but still she knew next to nothing. He had to be getting help, she decided. How else could a creature that noticeable stay in a town unnoticed. Tyrr contemplated using Aisha to find the elusive tauren, but quickly decided against it. Mounts, especially potentially dangerous ones such as the jungle cat, were required to be checked at the town stables. So, the elf would simply have to wait for a lead to hit her.

Familiar xenophobia came over Tyrr as a powerful force knocked her down. She glared at the troll that ran carelessly through the town, anger burning in her heart. She hated those disgusting creatures: bunch of cannibalistic voodoo priests, all of them. She unsheathed the dagger from her belt as she began to chase after the blue skinned creature. Killing him was just what she needed to blow of some steam.


	9. Chapter 9

_I checked the stats part of my account and saw that I've had __20 hits on my last chapter. So why hasn't one person left a review? Please people. Anyway, last chapter was kinda short, so i decided to post this one early._

Chapter 9

I hold my right arm steady with my left as I focus every ounce of magical energy I still have into my palm. The undead creature lumbers towards me. The ball of conjured power cackles in my hand, burning my fur and skin. I ignore the pain. The creature reaches out to grab me just as I release the ball of lightning into his chest.

My knees buckle under my weight. I'm exhausted after that attack, but the thing has to be destroyed. The sheer power of my blast decimates surrounding walls and the roof, dust clogs the air and stings my eyes.Powdered filth settles, and as I finally see the hulking form still standing, I gasp in shock. "Light not hurt Grum. Grum is stronger." He picks me up as if I'm weightless and throws me through a window. Bits of glass cut into my skin. The ground spins towards me, and I hit it hard, bones almost break under the sudden shock. Get up, I tell myself. I stumble to my hooves as the creature jumps down, almost crushing me beneath him. I lift my arms and release another blast. Grum keeps coming, that slow shuffle of his. It's his skin. That damn thick skin, I just can't penetrate it. I fall to my knees. I can't fight, I'm beat.

"Hey mon!" shouts a voice. Aloos closes the distance between he and the creature in a blur of blue speed. He leaps into the air: drawing his blades and shoving them into both of the creatures head. "Now," he screams, jumping off the giant and landing gracefully on the ground.

Last chance. My hands stir as I summon everything I have left, tapping into my very spirit. If this doesn't kill him, nothing will. This is it, one of us will die.

From out of my hand rips a lance of lightning. The swords carry the blast deep into the creature's core, burning his insides with white hot fire. He let's out an inhuman roar as his skin smolders and smokes and begins to drip away. He looks at me with those angry eyes, and takes another step. His flesh begins to fall away in chunks and flakes. Oozing puss drips out of the holes. He takes another step. Bones crackle and pop and assault my ears. Skin and layers of fat drip to the ground to form a rancid pussy pool. Then, all at once, the creature collapses into itself. The smell, too horrible to describe, bombards my nose and makes me want to vomit.

I'm so weak, so tired from that fight. I look around at the various races, their eyes slowly showing recognition of who I am. I pull both swords from what left of Grum's corpse and hold them in front of me in a defensive stance, struggling with my knees to keep me up. Either out of respect or fear, the crowd backs away slowly. I begin to back away toward the docks. If I can reach the ship, I can sail away from this place, reach the Undercity, and finish the mission. I turn around only for a second. I'm so close to the dock. I can feel the cool ocean breeze. Just a few more steps.

Suddenly, something sharp stings my neck. I grab at the throbbing skin and pull a dart out of my fur. Another one hits my shoulder. I rip it out. Three more bite into my unprotected thigh. A new one finds its place in my arm.

The tranquilizers and sedatives course through my blood.

My vision blurs and I go blind.

I tumble to the ground, my limbs parallelized and useless. Somewhere off in the distance, a masculine voice speaks in a commanding tone.

"This tauren is property of the great King Anduin Wrynn. Any who attempt to interfere with face the full wrath of all the Alliance forces."

Then my hearing goes.


	10. Chapter 10

_Tired. Thank you for the reviews. Just have to post this beforeI fall asleep. Goodnight._

Chapter 10

"What are you doing here?" Private Tyrr shouted. She pushed and shoved her way through the small armada of human soldiers that were nervously surrounding the unconscious tauren to reach Marcus Goodhand. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded again. The human's hand abruptly struck Tyrr's stomach, winding her severally. The paladin then clutched the elf's long black hair and twisted her arm behind her back. He dragged her through the goblin town until they were both in a large building that served as an Alliance embassy.

"You will stand at salute when in the presence of your better," Goodhand shouted at the elf, who was still on the ground gasping for air. "Further, what happened to your uniform?"

Tyrr had exchanged her heavy leather pants and chest plates for a simple pair of leather pants and a sleeveless cloth shirt. Her black hair was no longer tied up tightly; instead it hung loosely on her shoulder and past her waist. Boots had been replaced with a pair of soft slippers and she didn't bother to have gloves. The only trace of her Alliance position was the army issue dagger she wore loosely at her hips.

Tyrr swallowed down the bile that was clawing up her throat and spoke with her most submissive voice. "Your sudden presence here surprised me, sir, please excuse my actions."

"I suspected you may have a lead on the Greywalker, so I sent one of my men follow you, elf. I'm sure that you merely forget to send your report."

"Yes sir. I'm sorry sir. I simply wanted to be sure of my findings, so the Alliance wouldn't have to send a soldier of your caliber for nothing."

Goodhand circled the elf, who was still forced to stand at salute. As his glaring eyes met hers, she wondered if he was actually vain enough that he didn't notice her sarcasm.

"Sir. What will you do now that the Greywalker is in custody, sir?" she asked tenderly.

"I will interrogate him, and then he will be executed."

"You can't!"

The sudden outburst surprised the human as much as the speaker. "And why not, elf?" Goodhand demanded in his usual degrading tone.

Tyrr was about to answer, when her voice caught in her throat. She groped for a response. Why did she care if some nameless tauren was executed? Because he saved her? Why should she care? "Um, sir, I believe it would be unethical to execute a prisoner. Especially since the Greywalker is not apart of the Horde's forces. According to the conference of Ironforge, he would technically be considered a civilian."

"It's not a prisoner or a civilian, private. It is merely an animal that must be put down." He quickly added as an after thought: "For the safety of all the Alliance."

"But…"

"Private!"

"Of course sir," Tyrr said sheepishly, slouching so that her superiority in height was not as substantial.

"After all: all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

"You're right sir," the elf whimpered. "We all must do what we must."

Tyrr walked out of the embassy, and then ran out of the town. No one stopped her. No-one cared. Finally, when the cobble-stone ground gave way to sand and she entered the sanctuary of the desert, she stopped. "Why!" she screamed, beating the ground. "Why do i care about him?" Something silent stalked behind her. She turned hatefully, her dagger out in front of her. She wanted so bad to kill something. "Aisha," she smiled, letting tears wet her eyes. The night-saber padded forward to lick her neck and nose ever so tenderly, and the elf buried her face into the warm fluffy fur. The night saber slowly settled to the ground and the elf moved closer to her warm belly. The bright savage sun was slowly disappearing from the sky and with it the heat it brought. Already a chill was settling down the elf's back. "I have to do something Aisha," Tyrr gulped. "It will make both of us targets of the Alliance, but its something I must do." The great jungle cat purred, as if she understood. Perhaps she did, Tyrr knew that animals were more intelligent than most beings believed. The elf snuggled closer to the cat's fur.She didn't speak, only mouthed the words,"Thank you," under her breathe.

_Deep in the desert, later that night:_

Tyrr pulled the elastic wire of her bow to her nipple as she took careful aim for the one of the humans. These men were guarding the outer walls of the prison were the Greywalker was being held. She'd have to slay these two sentries quickly and silently if she hoped to procced further. But then something hit her, harder than Goodhand ever could. "Why am I doing this," she asked herself. She was hiding amongst the low brush of the desert called the Barrens. It was night, so she doubted her targets could see her in a passing glance. She could see them however; a trait of her nocturnal race was vision so long as there was moon light. "Why do I care if some nameless tauren dies? Why! He's an animal, no better than the cattle we slaughter for meat." She lowered her bow and took a deep breathe, settling onto her rump. "Why do I feel this way?" she asked the voiceless sands. "I can't," she swallowed, "love him. I can't feel anything for him. It goes against everything I have been taught." She brushed the ebony hair from her face and lifted the bow again. "Why am I doing this?" she whimpered. "Why do I feel this way?"

All of her life she'd been taught the Horde were godless monster, and the Alliance were crusader of the just. Life was so simple then, so many things for her to kill. But something changed after she met the Greywalker. She dove back into her memories with new eyes. She herself had committed the very acts she condemned the orcs and the trolls for. She'd taken part in the massacre of whole villages, believing those she killed beneath her. She'd executed prisoners with a smile on her face and a song in her heart, always using the excuse they'd do the same to her.How could she be so foolish?

The night elf's sharp eyes noticed a shapeless form behind one of the guards. Two gleaming, glistening blades emerged from the shadows, theweilder could not yet be seen.Both humans were oblivious until a sword neatly sliced a sentry's head from his body. The other guard gasped. Quickly,a shadowdove onto him, jamming both swords through his chest. The shadow rebounded off his chest, flipping in the air and landing gracefully on the ground. The human stumbled back, amazingly alive given the metal that was peircing his chest. The shadow quickly pulled a small shining knife and threw it into the human's skull, ending his life.

Free of hostiles, the stealthy creature stepped out of the shadows, giving Tyrr a better look. He was of average height for a troll, with navy blue skin and braided red hair. Other than the twin blades, he carried a long staff, bow, and quiver on his back and several smaller knives on his belt. He carelesslypulled both blades from the corpse and cleanedthem on his pant legs. The humans he'd just killed where merely sentries that guarded the prison's outer walls. The troll was no doubt working his way through the outside before assaulting the jail itself.

Again, the night elf's keen eyes noticed something that hid in the darkness. Another shadow of a form crept behind the ignorant troll, a dagger glistening in the moon's light. Tyrr could easily let the rogues fight, then kill the survivor, but something deep in her mind told her to save the troll. She cursed her own sympathies as she took aim and released an arrow. The bolt spun silently through the air, finding it's place in the human's neck. The troll finally realized the threat and spun swinging. A spray of blood covered his blue skin. The human's head fell limp on his shoulders, only connected by a thin peice of skin on the back of his neck.

The troll noticed Tyrr, who had relinquished her cover to take the shot. He ran with such speed, bounding from side to side, that elf couldn't get a clear shot. Before she knew it, therogue was upon her. He kicked her to the ground and put both blades to her throat. Tyrr extended an open palm to the troll's chest and released a blast of nature's power. The force knocked him back and gave the elf room to roll to her feet. She pulled a fresh arrow from her quiver and took aim where the troll had fallen. To her distaste, he had already recover and held his own bow: an arrow aimed nefariously at her heart.

They stood like that, locked in a stall mate for several agonizing minutes. Tyrr's arm began to quake from the strain of keeping the bow loaded. The troll's finally toned limbs were beginning to show stress as well. Before either's fingers could slip, a ball of pail blue light formed between the two archers and took the shape of a night elf. Tyrr dropped her bow in surprise.

"Were da 'ell have you been?" the troll demanded, speaking in flawed Common.

"Mom?" Tyrr gasped. The spirit elf slowly approached her daughter. A translucent, icy blue hand stroked the living elf's lavender skin.

"Hello my child. It's been a long time."

"Mom," Tyrr sobbed. She wrapped her arms around the ghost's neck and embrace the ectoplasm skin. A cold sensation filled her body, but she didn't care. "I thought you were dead."

"I am dead," Mab said solemnly, hugging her daughter back. It took concentration, but she was able to run her fingers gently through her child's hair.

"Ya, perhaps ye didn't notice da healthy blue glow," the troll chuckled.

Tyrr ignored the remark. "How?"

"The shaman," said the mother smiled. "Taff sustains me in this realm."

"Who is Taff?"

"Da Greywalker ye came here ta kill. Cashing in on da bounty?"

"No, I came here...I came here to repay a debt," she said, trying to convince the troll as much as herself.

"Join da club, we got tabards. But I don't need ya here mon. I can save Taff on me own."

Tyrr cringed in anger. Insulent little blue skinned freak, she thought. "If not for me, troll, that human would've mounted your head on a wall. I don't think I need you."

He smiled at the comeback, and that put Tyrr off guard. Slowly, he stalked infront of her, looking deep into her eyes. It was at this moment she relized he was slightly taller. "Do ye even have da guts to kill one of ye own?"

"I killed the human," Tyrr growled.

"Yes, ye killed a human. La di fuckin da. Can ye kill an elf? Can ye look into da colorless eyes of one of ye own and take their life? Can ye live wit yourself after dat? Its not as easy as ye may think."

"Aloos, enough," the spirit elf said. "Tyrr, my daughter. I betrayed the Alliance, my comrades, for Taff. I have had to live with that everyday, even in death. It not something you should too."

"Besides, da humans will be gunning for ye same as Taff and I if ye do this. You'll be hunted down like ye are on the Horde. Sure ye can handle dat?"

"Yes," Tyrr quaked, though she wasn't sure the reason. Why did she want to be with the Greywalker so bad? Why was she willing to turn her back on her life just to see him again?

"Well den," the troll said. "Let's get started."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aloos didn't like how the plan had evolved. Originally, he simply intended to sneak into the jail, free his friend, and then the two could proceed to lay siege to any humans they found. But then he found Tyrr, and Mab came up with an idea. The interior walls, just outside of the prison itself, were crawling with humans: travelers, soldiers, and merchants. Even Aloos had to admit that sneaking through such a heavily populated area would be difficult. Instead, Mab had the idea to simply walk through the gates.

"Stop," said one of the sentries guarding the door into the prison tower itself.

"What is your business?" demanded the other soldier, trying his level best to seem intimidating even though the elf was a foot taller and as a result: looking down on him.

"Well, when traveling on the Barrens, I managed to capture this troll," she said, gesturing to Aloos, who had a noose around his neck and his hands tied behind his back. "I thought it best to bring him here for interrogation and execution."

One guard moved forward to examine Aloos. He cirled, andkicked the back of one of the troll's legs, sending him to the ground. "Great catch," said the human, pulling Aloos's head back by his hair and pushing a blade to his throat. "Oh I'll enjoy killing you _mon_, once you tell us all your little secrets." The guard snickered and pushed a boot into the troll's back. He forced Aloos's face into the sand. Tyrr bit her lip, struggling not to show any compassion. Again, why did she care if the troll was tortured? She'd done much worse. "Alright elf, take the prisoner inside and down to the dungeon. Captain Goodhand should be done with the tauren we captured."

"Thank you gentlemen," Tyrr said, pulling the rope to force Aloos to follow.

"Wait," one of the guards said suddenly. Tyrr froze, her heart pounding so loud she thought it'd burst through her ribs. The guard walked forward and drew his dagger. "I heard if you cut off a troll's limb it'll grow back. Always wanted to know if that was true."

Tyrr slowly reached for her dagger, but a look from Aloos stopped her. He shook his head so slightly, and his eyes said what his voice could not. She forced shaking hands into her pockets as she bit her lip so hard she thought she'd taste blood. The guard stroked Aloos's neck with the knife, slowly moving it from side to side. Then, suddenly, with a flick of the wrist, he cut off the troll's ear. Hot, sticky black blood began to ooze out of the open wound. The shock and sudden pain caused Aloos to fall to his knees and cover his wound defensivly. The guard laughed as he kicked the troll's chest, winding him. Tyrr rubbed her own gut in empathy.

The sadistic guard plucked the bloodied ear off the ground and spoke into it mockingnly. "Will that grow back?" he asked, and a roar of laughter filled the camp. Tyrr forced herself to chuckle as not to seem suspicious. "Alright," said the second sentry."Get him down to the dungeon."

In the spiral stairwell to the dungeon, Tyrr undid the bindings and returned Aloos's swords. "Are, are you alright?" she asked.

The troll rubbed the wound. "It'll grow back." He carefully examined his swords, as if being in the possession of the elf had changed them. "I owe Taff in a way ye can't imagine mon. I'll do anything to save him." He rested a blade at Tyrr's neck. "Dat includes killing some little bitch elf. Make no mistake."

"I won't," she said, sheathing her dagger in favor of her bow. The outside of the tower was crawling with human guards, so they elected the fake prisoner routine. Now, inside the heavy stone and sound proofed walls, deception wasn't important. Guards, if any, would be scattered. All they'd have to do is find the Greywalker.


	11. Chapter 11

_So sorry about the lack of updates. I just started playing WoW again, so I haven't really done anything for the past week._

_To Kyn: you make a good point. My justification is that Tyrr doesn't really know what she's feeling right now. It may be love at first sight, or she perhaps she just confused with the sudden feelings she has for Taff (the Greywalker). Or maybe its just lust, and she's attracted to the tauren based solely on physical appearance. You'll have to wait and see. Anyway, on with the chapter._

Chapter 11

There is a large metal bar at my chest pushing into me so hard, I can barely breathe. My hooves are shackled, a heavy chain connecting them into the walls. My arms are bound with heavy rope and tied behind my back in such a way, I can't move without a sharp pain stabbing my shoulders. There are several needles sticking out of my stomach that are just enough of a nuisance to prevent me from concentrating long enough to cast a spell. My night goes down hill from there.

I stayed in the darkness for who knows how long. I hear voices sometimes, guards bitching about guarding a cow, or talking about their wives and sluts. Then, bizzarely it all suddenly stops with a slamming of the door to my cell. My blindfold is suddenly torn away and my eyes are assaulted with light. It's not just the countless torches in the room, but the golden armor mere inches from my face that reflects the burning glow. When my eyes finally adjust to the blaze, I see him. He's a human, about six feet tall and extremely muscular. He wears the heavy golden metal armor that all paladins (or as I like to call them: religious psycos) use; his only exposed skin is his face which is covered by a thick beard and brown hair at his shoulders. His look is that of a man who genuinely believes he is doing a higher powers will, which scares me to now end. Countless atrocities have been committed in the name of the Light. I should know; I've helped the victims. He's cradling a gigantic hammer like his manhood, a beautiful peice of metal crafted so exquistely, I fantasize about using it.

"Now cow, this is how it will go. I will torture you. You will tell me why the Dark Lady wants you dead. You will tell me whatever secrets you know. Then I will kill you, and put you out of your godless misery." Just to show me he meant every word, he lifts his leg and kicks me hard in my exposed stomach. The force of the blow thrust any air out of my lungs and makes bile climb my throat. I gasp for air, but can't seem to pull enough into my chest. He hits me again. This time in my jaw, and knocks out a tooth. "What do you know?"

"Wow," I say, spitting out blood. "You're strong for a human. Want to arm wrestle?"

"You damn godless abominations," says the human interrogator in a whisper."All of you will pay for your crimes."

"What crimes might those be? I'm not saying I'm a saint, but I only kill those who have it coming."

"You have murdered countless soldiers of the Alliance. You have taken credit for the deaths."

"To avenge those who have died unjustly by their hand, so their souls can find peace in the next world. That's what I do; avenge those who've died before their time."

"Beast!" shouts the paladin as he strikes my jaw. "Hiding your misdeeds and sins under the guise of helping souls. You make me sick. The Light is the only savior and the Light will help the souls."

"Is that your excuse for the village in the Ashenvale forest?" I ask. The human's face suddenly plummets into a look of horror and shock. "That's right," I chuckle. "I know all about that little town from a few years back. Fifty-two unarmed night elves: your allies, slaughtered by a squad under your command. It happened so fast, so violently, the elves never had a chance for a counter attack. I remember this one child. She was so young, almost a baby. You left her mother alive, which I guess a joke, a final method of torment for both."

The human's expression changes to a smug look. "The punishment for worshiping a false god must be swift and exact. It is a distasteful deed, but one that must be done."

"You murdered a town of your comrades because they worshiped a different deity and you have the nerve to say I'm the bad one here?"

"I don't expect an animal to understand. I only hope that the elves I slew have seen the Light."

"They didn't. They begged me for help. I've managed to kill most of the squad responsible, but you're an elusive little bastard. I always hoped that when I did finally catch up to you, our positions would be reversed. My fault for being careless."

"You monster," the human growls. "I'll enjoy killing you."

"Don't show too much emotion there. You wouldn't want the Light to strike you down for feeling something. Hey, why doesn't the Light strike me down; if I'm such a monster?"

The paladin is about to respond when the door to the room burst open and a young human rushes in. "Sir," says the youth gasping for air. "There's been an attack. They've taken out all the guards. We have to…" he stumbles in to the cell and falls to the floor, an arrow erect out of his back. "Sir," he whimpers. "They're here for the tauren, kill it," he says, before his soul leaves its shell. The human interrogator turns to me, fire burning in his eyes. "Your friends," he laughs. "Well, they won't get you back alive." He lifts the hammer over his head, prepared to kill me like he would livestock. After all, that's all I am to him. But I don't close my eyes or flinch. I won't give him the satisfaction.

The tender area of his neck, just above the armor plating, is pierced by an arrow. He stumbles into the cell, gurgling blood and cursing with his last breath. Then, with the clank of his heavy armor, he falls to the ground still shaking and murmuring obscenities. "Bout time Aloos," I grunt. But it's not Aloos that walks in. Instead, it's an elf: long black hair at her waist and pale purple skin, delicate ears protrude from the side of her head. Because she wears such simple clothes, the contrast of the elaborate armor when I first met her, I don't recognize her at first. Lacking the strict military appearance, I realize how attractive she really is. "You're," I say through the blood that's been pooling my mouth. "You're Mab's daughter: Tyrr."

The night elf slinks towards me and gently pulls the needles from my stomach. She disappears behind me and cuts the rope that binds my hands, then picks the lock to free my hooves.

I stand up, shakily getting my balance. My muscles are still sore from the fight with Windrunner's assassin and the interrogation, but movement dulls the pain. The elf slinks in front of me and extends a hand. Its such an odd gesture for one of her kind, I don't make a move in confusion. "Hello Taff, I'm Tyrr Pantherfoot. I never got to thank you for saving me."

I hesitantly take her hand and shake, my huge palm engulfing her tiny fingers, yet I'm sure not to hurt her. We stay like that for minutes, each seeing the other anew. I catch her soft, sweet scent and it massages my senses into tranquility. How could I not notice such a sweet natural aroma when I first found her? How could I not realize how beautiful she is? It must have been the armor, and the hate in her eyes, that turned me off. Or maybe, it was my own small prejudices for the race responsible for my family's murder. But she's so different now: her clothes, her eyes, her sweet scent. The way she looks at me has changed: not a hint of superiority or disgust, just a pure feeling of liking. Either her feelings are genuine, she's deeply confused, or she is an excellent actress.

"Awe, ain't that cute mon," says Aloos, a silhouette in the door. "Sorry ta break dis up, but we still got ta get out of here. Think ye can fight mon?" he asks, handing me a new staff. I thank him, but instead take the paladin's hammer. Its truly an amazing weapon, carved from solid metal rather than several peices welded together. It'd be a shame to let it rust on the cold dungeon ground.

I lift up my free hand and summon a small ball of energy into my palm. The human interrogator is still struggling to hold onto his life, so I release the lightning into body: killing him. I watch as his soul evaporates into mist and wave a mocking goodbye. "I can manage. Can you?" I grunt, looking at Tyrr.

"Hey mon, dis little elf's body count would do ye proud. Been keeping right along wit me."

The elf looks down at the ground embarrassed. "We should go," she whimpers.


	12. Chapter 12

_I can not appoligize enough for my lack of updates, but i haven't been able to stop playing WoW. I'll use all my unholy powers to get chapter 13 up soon. Just a warning, i'm not great at fight scenese but i hope you'll enjoy. R&R._

Chapter 12

I burst out of the heavy wooden doors of the prison and into the interior walls of the fortress. I'm bathed in cool night air and fresh moon's light, both feel wonderful in my fur. There are guards on either side of me, both so surprised by my sudden appearance neither draws their sword. I take both sentries in my hand and smash them together. "Guards!" screams a merchant. Already, sentinels are pouring out of their tents, armed with swords, axes and muskets. Above me, a rain of arrows assaults the group, thinning the herd. Aloos has taken a strategic position on the roof of the jail. From there, he can snipe at his targets without threat of retaliation. Tyrr slinks to my side and enters a battle stance. One of the soldiers swings his sword to take off her head. She ducks beneath the swipe and shoves her dagger through the humans chin to reach his brain. Another guard comes behind her. The elf draws her blade and with a swing cuts open his throat. I'm busy myself. Two soldiers have marked me their targets and are approaching me from either side. I summon a bolt to my hand and send it through one of the human's chest. For the other, I swing my new hammer into his leg. He stumbles before me, moaning in pain and parylized. I lift a hoof and bring it down onto his head: ending his life. Aloos leaps down behind me and parries a slash that would've cut deep into my back. He ducks as I lift my hand and release a blast of fire into the human. A distance away, Tyrr is dodging the dogged assault of particularly large soldier. Aloos draws a small blade from his belt and throws it with amazing precision. The dart finds it's mark in the human's arm, the sudden pain causing him to drop his battle axe. Tyrr takes this opportunity to leap into his shoulder and wrap her shapely thighs around his throat. She spins her body, snapping his neck and taking him down. A human attempts to rush me, carrying his sword over his head. I easily step to my side as he brings his blade down into the ground. I clap my hands together and swing the two clenched fists into his back. Aloos is fighting two guards, parrying their battering with a sword each. I grab one of the guards and wretch his head from his body. Tyrr lifts her dagger to parry a powerful overhead swing. Her shapely leg swings up to kick the human's groin, then her dagger falls down to stab him through the back of his neck. Occupied with this, she's unable to duel the soldier that sneaks behind her. I run to her and ram the backstabbing human with all my might. His limp body flies several feet before lying crippled on the ground. Tyrr places a hand on my shoulder and leaps over me to land gently behind me. She summons a surge of nature's energy and releases it into a human who was prepared to swing an axe into my blindside. A small group had surrounded Aloos, who is parrying five swords at once. I turned to the elf and she looked up at me. We exchanged silent nods as we both began our respective spell: the elf calling on nature's supremacy and I summoning the spirit's protection. Energy cackled and the ground around us shook as the elf releases the flood of magic into the group. The raw power of nature burns away at the weak human bodies. And when the fires had extinguished and the lingering magical energies all but gone, Aloos is revealed in the mists of the charred corpses. I had used my powers to shield him from the magical blast, while Tyrr annihilated our remaining enemies.

"Wow mon, that was some fun," Aloos says, practically jumping for joy as he stretches. He, like Tyrr and I, is covered in a thick layer of blood.

I watch as the dozens of spirits slowly disappear into the next world. Some are calm, some are screaming so loud it hurts my ears. In moments, the high pitched shrieks have settled into low moans: then into oblivion. "Thank you," I say, turning to my allies. "Both of you."

"Hey mon, as far as I'm concerned I still owe ye."

Tyrr doesn't say anything, just stands there in all her beauty. Under the moon's light, her ravenous black locks of hair and lavender skin glows with magnificence. I once thought elf eyes disturbing: blank and soulless, but with the complementing celestial glow, they seem so much more inviting. That feeling in my chest creeps up again, a longing for something I know I mustn't have. Why do I feel like this? What is this feeling? I can't possibly…love her.


	13. Chapter 13

_New chapter up and at em. Please leave a review if you like what i'm doing, otherwise i'll be sad. (cries) New entry might take a while, since i almostgot my WoW charecter to 60. Anyway, i'm goanna try and wrap this up soon, provided i get some level of insperation. Again, R&R if you like it._

Chapter 13

Tyrr slowly disrobed in the sanctity of the pail moon's light and entered the lake without a splash. It was far too late, and the trio was far to tired to trek back to the goblin town of Ratchet; so the tauren, the elf, and the troll decided to wait in the middle of the Barrens for morning. As Taff and Aloos discussed their next move, Tyrr snuck off and found one of the desert's few oases. She felt disgusting: her lavender skin was stained with the blood of humans, her ebony hair matted down with liquid crimson. She let the gentle drops of water rinse her clean of evidence of her dark deed. Physically at least. In truth, she'd didn't feel any mourning for the lives she took. But then, she'd always been taught the humans were her inferiors. After the battle, perhaps that was true.

A splash in the distance made her freeze. The gentle pitter patter of drops returning to the lake embraced her long, slender ears. "Who could that be?" she asked with a whisper. As quiet as she could, she swam through the water and onto land. She dried her soft skin and dressed in her pants and shirt. When she slipped her dagger onto her belt, she stealthily made her way to the continued splashes. She didn't travel far, just to another body of water. The elf crouched in the bushes and proceeded farther, until she could see the pool, and the tauren who bathed in the center, clearly.

Tyrr giggled as her cheeks blushed. She watched Taff lift a handful of water over his head and dump it into his mane. He then scrubbed out his fur, removing any trace of the crimson luster. Tyrr, as perverted as she knew it was, couldn't turn away and leave the tauren in the privacy he believed he had. She gazed at his body longingly, absorbing every detail of his amazing physique. He was very well-built, like all tauren, with a hump of pure muscle on his back that gave him incredible upper body strength and his hunched posture. His chest was like a master sculptor's life work. Every muscle, every rib, was crafted to perfection, all covered by a blanket of soft fur. His arms were as thick as the elf's body. His hands were huge, though he was capable of such tenderness, she knew. The majority of his fur was dark gray. The only exception: the mane at the top of his head, which was jet black. The countless gashes and scars over body didn't repel her; instead they made him more beautiful to her eyes.

She was silently settling down to continue her peeping, when she accidentally sat on a twig. The snapping that erupted from her hiding place was loud against the silent night, and the tauren instinctively lifted a hand and blasted her spot. Flames engulfed the bushes and she was exposed by the burning orange light. Her perfect lavender skin would've been burned if she didn't dive forward and into the lake.

"Tyrr?" the tauren demanded, snatching her out of the water.

In his massive, powerful grip, the elf forced a giggle. "Hi Taff."

The Greywalker growled as he shuffled out of the lake and shook dry his fur. Tyrr diverted his eyes as he hastily pulled on his pants. "Enjoy the show?" he grunted.

"I'm sorry," she whimpred. "I just came her to clean off and…"

"You decided to get an eye full."

"You have a great body," she giggled. She laughed because she was terrified the tauren would get mad and decide to kill her. To her surprise, he chuckled.

"So do you."

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It's an awkward trek back to the camp. Tyrr's sweet scent and the dusty smell of the desert are mixed with the stench of gaucheness. She'd watched me bathe. I should tear her arms off and shove them down her little throat, but I just can't get mad at her. Why? Why can't I even think of hurting her?

Aside from the thick discomfort, the midnight desert is cold. My dense fur, even damp, provides me more than enough insulation to keep warm. But the elf has no such luxury. With each cool breeze, she shivers fiercely. Her skin has lost that lavender glow and is starting to grow a sickly pail. She rubs her arms with each step, desperate to put the life back into her limbs. Obviously she wasn't thinking to clearly when she left the warmth of our camp fire and wandered into the lake. At this rate she won't last, and her's is a spirit I don't want to watch leave this world. I swallow a lump in my throat. I don't have a choice.

I lift the night elf gently into my arms, supporting both her back and legs in my hands. "What are you doing?" she asks. She isn't annoyed or angry, just curious.

"Your cold," I grunt embarrassed. "I can put you down but you might not last."

"No," she says, cuddling close to my chest. That beautiful lavender color returns to her arms, then cheeks and chest. She looks up at me and I realize I'm staring. I blush. She blushes too. She embraces my chest for warmth and I hold her closer to keep her safe. Great spirits, I think I love her.

I'm almost to the camp when it happens. I can smell the smoke from a fire and see the tunnel of black fumes, when something powerful knocks me down. I tumble, shielding Tyrr in my powerful arms as I roll across the dusty ground. When I finally stop, Tyrr shaken beneath me, something sharp and strong begins to tear at my unprotected back. The humans took my vest when they captured me. I can hear their spirits laughing from the other world. I swing an arm and connect with something fury and that gives me just enough time to stumble to my hoofs. I run. Tyrr doesn't know what's going on. Neither do I. My back aches as the torn flesh opens with each step. It something with fur and maybe knives: centaurs or quilboars or even some big animal that's hungry enough to call me prey. I don't care. But my hammer is back at the camp so that means I need some distance to summon a spell. That strong thing hits me again. I land hard on my back. Tyrr falls a few feet away and lands gently on her feet. Something huge pounces on me, the weight on my chest is smothering. I can't see what it is that attacked me: its sheer girth eclipses the moon. All I know is that powerful jaws close around my throat.

"Aisha," screams Tyrr. The teeth abandon my throat and the pressure leaves my chest and I suck the cool night air deep into my lungs. I carefully get to my hooves, burning energy cackles from my hands. A few feet away: Tyrr is receiving a tongue bath from a massive night saber. "I'm sorry Aisha," the elf continues. "I should have called you. Thank you for trying to protect me, but this tauren is a friend." She turns to me. "Taff, this is Aisha." The night saber and I exchange glares and I look into her spirit. She's a smart creature: feral and wild but very loyal to Tyrr. She'll tear me apart if she ever thinks her master is in danger. I nod not to show submission, but respect. The night saber growls in her throat. Tyrr mounts her great cat and scratches her ear. "Ashia," she sings in that sweet voice. "It's alright, trust me." The night saber snarls as she sets out for the camp, but not before she lifts her tail in a mocking gesture. I ignore it and begin to trot to keep up.

You can tell a lot about a race by the mount they choose. We tauren use the mighty kodo: hugely powerful but also gentle. The orcs ride wolves: vicious creature but not without loyalty to their own. The humans: the strong, commanding horses and the dwarfs: the durable and brawny rams. Gnomes ride a tribute to their ingenuity: the robo-chickens while trolls employ the cunning and deadly raptors. The undead of the Forsaken ride the decrepit horses, revived through dark alchemy and magic with their masters. And elves? The night elves tame the night sabers, the rider just as shadowy and mysterious as their steed. You can tell a lot about a rider by their particular beast as well. Aisha: each step she takes is graceful and beautiful and deadly. She can take my life if I let my guard down. That scares me. But the way she cares for Tyrr, the genuine love she showed when she was reunited with her master. That gives me hope.

Finally the ground beneath my hooves grows warm from the roaring fire. Aloos is sleeping near the flames, propped against a large green scaly thing. His raptor, Snot, must have returned while I was bathing, and he must not have been alone. "Goliath," I smile. I wrap my arms around the kodo's thick neck. He licks the damp fur on my chest. I chuckle. His tongue retracts as he notices Aisha, who's making herself comfortable near the fire. Tyrr settles down and cuddles close to her mount's stomach before she quickly falls asleep. "What do you think?" I ask Goliath. He answers with a low roar. "Yeah, I like her too."


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14. Wow, 14 chapters. This started as a short work of maybe three pages. So I'm so sorry updates are few and far between, but I promise I will finish this…eventually_.

Chapter 14

In life his name was Rudolph Franklin. And though he carried that name in his un-death, that was all he took. In life, he had a family that loved him, and he loved them. In un-death, he only had his fellow soldiers of the Dark Lady's will. In life, he was a priest: a noble man who traveled from town to town, healing the sick and spreading the good word of the Light. In un-death, his views withered and distorted to match his physical changes. No longer was he a fine bodied human, who was gentle despite his strong stature. Now his very flesh seemed eager to drip away, bound to his tired bones only through the curse of the plague. With his life went his will to heal. That righteous emotion was replaced with a burning desire for revenge, and a will to serve the banshee queen before him.

"Mi lady," Rudolph said, bowing to one knee.

"What news do you bring?" Sylvanas Windrunner asked. Her voice was amazingly soft and soothing. It was said she could seduce even the most fanatical of paladins with no more than a whisper. To the Dark Lady's side was her trusted majordomo: the dreadlord know as Varimathras. Standing well over seven feet tall with a wide broad body, his sheer size was enough to intimidate any would be assassins of his master.

"Reports come from the south mi lady. The humans did indeed attempt to reclaim Tarren Mill, but our fellow Forsaken quelled the attack. I'm jubilant to report our ranks have expanded greatly after the battle."

"Good," the Dark Lady cooed. "They will all be needed. You are to travel to Booty Bay. Evacuate the town and be prepared to ambush the Greywalker."

Rudolph was confused. An upper-class soldier, he was familiar with all the Forsaken's resources of information. Yet still he knew not where this intelligence emerged from. He was going to risk questioning the Dark Lady, when he saw her. Sylvanas only smiled.

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The ship settled slowly in the dock. Before an anchor was dropped or the boat even leisurely swam to a halt, the undead emerged. Like the plagues they spread so maliciously, the Forsaken soldiers descended onto the vessel. From out of houses and stores, dwelling and shops, they came racing down the dock as fast as their long dead bones could carry them. They climbed the ship's walls and sides, and broke down the doors to flood the quarters. The plan was brutal in its simplicity, yet none the less affective. Utilize numbers, violence, and speed to eradicate the enemies. And in front of the mounting bloodlust was Rudolph himself. The ship was designed with two floors, so while his fellow Forsaken tore apart the upper level searching for a living thing to kill, Rudolph dove deeper.

It was the last room on the ship. No the tauren was behind this door, huddled in a ball of fear and fur. A sadistic grin crept over his lips. He kicked open the door. A tripwire attached to the door pulled a torch off the wall and ignited the pounds of explosive materials that littered the floor. A moment later, there were flames that were the purest white one could imagine. That was followed by an explosion louder than the greatest dragon's roar. Rudolph Franklin's body was incinerated by the flames completely, as were his fellow Forsaken soldiers.

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Tyrr Pantherfoot swam to the surface of the water and took a long deep breathe. Aloos followed, and Taff emerged to shake out his mane. The trio gazed at the burning wreckage, only Tyrr amazed that the plan had worked.

"I an't belief that orked." She said, in broken orcish. Aloos chuckled. She'd been practicing various dialects with the aid of Taff, but was still far from fluent in any.

Taff slowly swam to shore were he shook out his fur. His comrades followed. "Most soldiers are cannon fodder," the tauren explained with his deep voice. Fortunately for Tyrr, he was fluent in both the human langue of common and the night elves' native tongue. "They like to think they're crucial to the army, that they'll make a difference, that they're important. All they can really do is overwhelm their betters."

Aloos chuckled. "Leaders ain't much better mon. Simple strategies and overwhelming numbers. No imagination."

Tyrr understood the logic. "But it's the one in a million you got to watch out for?"

"She catches on quick mon."


	15. Chapter 15

_My little story is winding down to an end. If all goes well, this is the second to last chapter for this story. If you like how its going. Or want to make some last minute predictions, drop a review. Hope you like it._

Chapter 15

Aloos jumps down from the trees to land gently before Tyrr and I. "Ye were right mon. Not a single guard on da outside. I slipped a few floors down. Whole place is empty."

I smile. Are you scared yet, Sylvanas; locked in your subterranean fortress, surrounded by your royal guard? You know I'm coming, but are you paranoid now that your assassins have failed? Are you stupid enough to send your armies out, stretched so thin I can slip through your precious Undercity with minimum resistance? I think you are.

You still don't know that I'm that anonymous source who tipped you off about the tauren called the Greywalker. I've been planning this for years. I knew if I could plant the seed of fear, it would blossom into paranoia. After Booty Bay, you're ready to shoot at every shadow and silhouette. You're scared, aren't you Dark Lady. You're sending patrols out every hour. You're working your resources too thin, trying to stop me before I reach you. If you were smart, you'd clump every thing that can hold a sword or cast a spell around you. You know I'm coming, and you're desperate to stop me. Well, too late.

"I don't feel good about this," the troll continues. "I can help ye mon."

"I know Aloos. But I need you to do this for me."

"I'm not afraid to die mon."

"I'm not afraid of your death either," I chuckle.

"What are you two talking about?" Tyrr asks ignorantly. One of my fist lashes out and hits the elf's jaw just hard enough to knock her out. For just a moment, her soft, slender body tenses. Then, in my arms, she goes limp.

"I don't feel right bout this mon," Aloos says, taking her from me.

"Just don't rape her," I growl condescendingly.

"She is a beauty. Loves ye mon. Talks in her sleep a lot. Ye feel da same?"

"I guess," I shrug.

"She'll want to know what happened to ye."

"Tell her I'm dead. After this it'll probably be true."

Slinging the elf over his shoulder, Aloos disappears into the forest's thick underbrush, unhindered by the weight of the elf on his shoulder. I turn my back on them, probably for the last time ever. Hesitant at first, then quicker as the spirits will me on, I emerge from the forest. Every logical bone in my body wants me to run back into the safety of the forest and hide with Tyrr. But I can't. I've come too far, killed too many people to give up now. Dark Lady, I'm coming for you.

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The surface of Undercity is unguarded. When I reach the stairwell to the lower caverns, I realize I'm gripping my hammer so tightly my palm hadstarted to bleed. The spirits won't shut-up either. They're an ecstatic whisper in my ear. Over their constant chatter Inotice gentle footsteps behind me. I turn, ready to crush the assassin beneath my mace, but I freeze. Damn. Never freeze.

The elf lifts her rifle and fires, the first bullet hitting my arm and forcing me to drop my hammer. Another shots rattles my chest. "Mab?" I grunt. But it can't be her. She can't be alive. She can't be shooting me.


	16. Chapter 16

**This is it, the finale. Play the trumpets I'm done. Anyone who's been reading all along, please leave a review. To Kyn, Absence, Wraithsoldier, Lorok, Muse, and any one else. Thank you. If you have any questions, drop a review and I'll try and send you an e-mail. Alright, I'm talking too much. Enjoy: the Mission, final chapter. -Wolf. :)**

Chapter 16

Tyrr awakened with a headache that throbbed in her skull. No, that didn't adequately describe the pain she felt. It felt as though her jaw had been broken. If the tauren had hit her any harder, its likely her head would've been knocked clean off. It took a minute for her head to stop spinning. Blindly, she clawed for her dagger, but found no sheathe on her belt. "What?" she muttered out of instinct.

"Ye awake?" Aloos asked. He was standing over the wary elf protectively, cradling a loaded bow in his arms. It appeared he was scared, ready for a battle from some unforeseen enemy.

"What?" she said again. Slowly, Tyrr settled on the earth beneath her and looked up carefully at the troll. He lowered the bow, skimmed the surrounding forests, and kneeled down. "What happened?" she repeated.

"Taff didn't want either of us with him, mon. He knows he won't survive."

"What?"  
"He told me to take ye as far as I could. I didn't want ta leave him, but… I'm sor.…" Tyrr pushed a clenched fist as hard as she could into Aloos's cheek. Her knuckles collided with his tusks, and a pain immediately rattled her arm. Never the less, dazing the troll gave her the chance to dart as fast her legs would take her through the forest. Then, in one fluent motion, she leapt into the air and changed her form to that of a speedy spotted cat. The troll gave chase, but was no match for the feline's speed.

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"We Forsaken are most appreciative of your efforts Madame Pantherfoot," said Sylvanas Windrunner, sitting on her elaborate throne; crafted of bones and carcasses.

"I am most appreciative as well, Dark Lady," Mab Pantherfoot smiled, bowing humbly.

"Yes. The cow in exchange for your flesh," the Dark Lady whispered. "As was the deal."

Mab brushed long, ebony lock from her face. How good it felt to touch her hair again, how warm she felt inside. No longer was she dependent on that damn cow to sustain her. She was alive. She was safe.

She coughed. She pushed a hand in front of her mouth as another wheeze ripped up through her lungs. "What the-" this time blood and bile clawed into her mouth. "What's happening?"

The Dark Lady began to laugh, so soft and aristocratically at first, but soon enough a sadistic cackle. "I gave you your flesh. I never said for how long."

"No," Mab whimpered. "No." The night elf pushed her way out of the throne room and ran through the halls of the Undercity. Her screams filled the caverns.

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Even with my eyes closed, I know three are around me. I can smell them. One's pushing a blade through my neck. I take him first. With all my might I grab the hilt of the undead's sword and twist it around, impaling it through his chest. One behind me. He lifts an axe. I pull the sword from the undead's chest and spin, cutting through axe wielder's neck. The last tries to run. Another day I may of let him go. But I've been shot by one of my oldest friends in the world. The wounds in my chest are a testimony to how close the bullets came to my heart. I decide I'll take some of my anger out on him.

There are four bullets in my body. I've lost a lot of blood. It takes a lot of concentration just to stand. Any hope I had of surviving this is lost. I'm not goanna live through this night. I don't care. I'm goanna take Windrunner down with me.

Down a flight of stairs. Through a hall. The stench of death and rotting flesh grows with each step. There are a few guards still left in the Undercity. Most of them run at the sight of me. I'm in no mood to spare the ones stupid enough to stand and fight. With weak, strained muscles I burst through a wooden door and enter a large open room. And there, cradling her broken form, dragging her body weakly: is Mab. I still feel anger, but something stops me from crushing the bitch's head. She sees me, and starts to laugh. "I always did suck with guns."

I slowly shuffle to her side and look down at her pitiful, pathetic body. She's still beautiful, but any lust is lost to my rage. I want to kill her but something stops me. A burning question in my mind. "Why?"

"You're goanna kill me?" she whimpers.

I nod.

She laughs again. "Then I'll tell the truth."

"When did you start this, this betrayal?"

"Which betrayal are you talking about?" She takes a deep sigh, trying to suck breath into broken lungs. Her exhale is peppered with drips of blood. "When I was alive, I stayed with you under orders, not redemption. My superiors decided you may become useful one day. They wanted me to keep an eye on you, even manipulate you if I could.

And if you ever threatened the Alliance, I'd be there to kill you."

Another seizure of coughs and blood. She won't last long.

"Then, the unthinkable happened," she says. "I died. I died," she repeated, slower the second time. "But then I had an idea. As long as you sustained me, I wasn't dead, I still had a chance at some form of life. Maybe one day you'd even learn to bring back my flesh."

"You're a coward," I growl. "You are a damn cowardly bitch."

"Sticks and stones," she grins. "Can't hurt me much more now. Not like the Dark Lady."

"When did you come to aid her?"

"After Ratchet. One of her servants found me. Made me a deal. Your life, for my flesh. I didn't know if she'd honor her part of the deal, but it was a chance. A chance to live again."

I stand up, towering over the crippled thing. She tilts her head and closes her eyes. I lift one of the swords I carry over my head and bring it down…missing her head by an inch. She looks at the steel, then at me, a questioning look on her perfect little face.

"I know what its like to lose everything you love," I growl, my body quaking in anger. "Tyrr doesn't deserve to lose you again." I throw two plants down before her. I can't believe I'm doing this. "The white one is grave moss. If you have any sense of justice you'll take it and end your life quick. The vine is liferoot. There's a chance you'll make it through the night with that." I turn my back and set out to find Windrunner.

"Cow!" she screams, as she shoves the liferoot down her throat.

A few more hallways and a few more guards. Neither is a problem. The spirits tell me exactly where to go and the soldiers flee at my sight. The long hallway opens into a large, open room with a high ceiling and two occupants: the Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner and the dreadlord Varimathras.

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"Who's there," Mab Pantherfoot said wearily. Already she could feel the liferoot spreading through her body, healing her wounds, but still she was weak. She'd never been one for direct combat, preferring the misdirection to confrontation. Still, she wasn't about to lose her new life because of some idiot undead soldier who wandered upon her. Her legs were useless, but her arms still held strength. She lifted the sword in the ground and waited, her breath pumping out of her lungs. "Oh thank Eluna."

Slowly, Tyrr Pantherfoot slunk out of the shadows, gripping her sheathed dagger tight.

"Come my daughter, please help me."

"Is it true?" Tyrr asked, taking another step.

"What?" Mab asked, throwing her sword to her side.

"Did you betray Taff?" the daughter asked, her voice shaking.

"Of course," Mab laughed. "I did this for you, my child. It was the cow's fault that I had to leave you. But never again. He'll surely die at Sylvanas's hands."

"How could you, after all he'd done? He saved you. He saved me. He's risking his life to avenge our people."

"He's a cow my child. It was either him or me; an animal or your own mother."

Tyrr settled to the ground, sitting on her folded legs. She lifted her mother up and embraced her. Confused at first, Mab hugged back. She supposed her daughter was simply happy. Until the knife plunged into her back.

"Tyrr?" Mab asked, her voice aching. She gripped her daughter's hair and pulled, but strength escaped her. She tried to push away, but her child held strong.

Tyrr held her mother close until her soul slipped away, one final time. "Good bye mom."

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Blood trickles down my back and soaks into my fur as Varimathras delivers another swipe. I swing my sword at him, but with those damn wings he can glide out of my range. Circling like a bird of prey, he swoops down to cut into my back again. I swing again, and he uses his wings to float above my head. Powerful limbs lift him high into the air. I summon lightning into my palm, but still he simply glides around the room. "Cow," he mocks. "Did you ever plan on succeeding?"

"Ha," I chuckle, leaning on my sword for support. "I never had a plan."

"Insolent cow," he says, wings slowing so he comes just slightly slower. I throw my sword with all my strength, and though he easily dodges, it distracts him for only a moment. I dive forward and take hold of his leg. He pumps his wings with all his might, but with the added weight of a bull, I can slowly drag him to the ground. When my hooves touch the stone floor, I swing the dreadlord down. Before he can move I'm upon him. I grab his chin and a horn with a hand each and begin to twist. He struggles against me. I call on what strength I have left. He submits to me for just a moment and I break his neck with a crack.

Rhythmic clapping and a voice as smooth as an angel's. "Bravo, Greywalker. Fanatics, assassins, even some of Thrall's own have attempted to get this far. None have succeeded. But you, Greywalker, you truly a remarkable warrior. Do you have a name?"

Don't answer. Don't let her lull you to sleep. Stay sharp. Stay focused. And try not to think what this'll do to you.

"With Varimathras dead, I'm in need of a new majordomo. I can make it worth your while."

Focus.

The Dark Lady sighs pettily as she lifts a hand, one of her fingers lazily erect. "Pity." A beam of energy lances out of her digit and into my chest. No pain, I'm beyond that, but I do fall to the floor with a thud.

With what strength I have left I pluck a small crystal from a padded sack on my belt. "F-for you…Dark Lady," I growl as I crush the tiny sphere in my palm. A moment nothing happens. All is silent. The Dark Lady begins to cackle, thinking my plan has failed. But she can't see what I see. The spirits slowly surround her. The humans who succumb to her plagues. The elves who where slaughtered by her men. The dwarves and gnomes who where executed by her hand. Even the orcs, trolls and my fellow tauren, who died with her secret betrayals. I've been working for years, slowly gathering these poor spirits to grant them their final chance at revenge. Sylvanas doesn't know what attacks her, but she feels it fine. I imagine its like a thousand angry hands beating upon her all at once, all eager for first blood. She screams so loudly, shrieking like a banshee.

I have nothing left. I stop fighting the urge to sleep and settle my head down on my arms. This isn't so bad. I'll just bleed out till there's nothing left. It'll be like falling asleep.

This place I enter is dark and quiet and warm. Its perfect to sleep for a while. Just a while. I'm just goanna sleep for a while.


End file.
